


When the West Wind Moves

by TheCrackedKatana



Series: Tales of the Sovereign [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU, Courtly Bullshit, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emperor Hux, Enforcer Kylo Ren, How Do I Romance?, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Romantic Gestures, talk of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrackedKatana/pseuds/TheCrackedKatana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being severely injured during a botched assassination attempt, Emperor Hux assigns a decoy to attend to his duties so that he may convalesce in the countryside without the knowledge of those who wish him harm.  His Enforcer, Kylo Ren, is not only his protection, but his only company as well.  With nothing left to do but enjoy the peaceful quietude of nature, emotional walls recede and guards drop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic as a gift for the talented and amazing [Jeusus](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/), who is an endless source of inspiration and covertly (or not so much) horrible ideas that I keep racing to write as fast as I fucking can. We often discuss Emperor Hux and his adventures with his absurdly hot Enforcer and this is one that I ran with, to say the least. Expect to see lots of Ren and Hux's "side adventures" as Emperor and Enforcer in the future!
> 
> Also [LOOK AT THIS ART SHE DID](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/141077730443/better-ren-asks-huxs-gaze-roves-over-the#notes) for this fic! AAAAHH!!

From his space beside the window, Hux watches as his Enforcer leaps lights from the bricked pathway and onto the fountain's stone rim, walking the narrow ledge with unearthly precision, eyes focused on some distant point, sword in hand. A traditional broadsword that he wields with weightless ease. One-handed.

 _Great galaxy._

His half naked body is well-muscled grace, the wrappings on his arms only serving to accentuate their definition. The pants are a snug fit that does little to hide the rest of him. The Emperor knows what is beneath those pants all too well and he feels his own seeming to tighten in response. 

Watching Ren is enough to make his fever spike all on its own. No physical exertion is needed. And it is most aggravating.

Ren drives the sword into the ground and leaps atop the remnants of a pillar, planting his hands on either side before slowing drawing himself into a one-handed balance, legs straight above him, free arm out to the side.

"Now, you are just showing off, " Hux grumbles.

But he admires the lean lines of Ren's body just the same.

Nearly half an hour passes before Ren ceases his physical antics and returns to the interior of their "retreat," pale body glistening with sweat, running a hand through his damp hair.

He pauses at the sight of Hux near the window.

"I didn't realize you were awake," he says.

Hux stifles a grunt. "Yes, well. Here I am."

Ren leans the sword against the fireplace beside an array of durasteel tools and turns to face him. "How are you feeling?"

A derisive noise escapes the ginger-haired Emperor. "Wretched."

Ren tilts his head. "It will take time for you to heal from this."

"Yes, yes." Hux waves a hand and does his best to rise unaided from the nook near the window, but the stiffness in his leg is an uncooperative nuisance. He sighs through his nose and casts a withering look at his Enforcer. "Ren," he says, thrusting an indicative hand towards the other man.

Ren does not taunt him or call him out on his stubborn need for independence, but rather concedes to helping him graciously, slipping an arm around his waist and heaving him to his feet as if he weighs nothing at all.

He is careful enough to allow Hux to take a few steps on his own, aware of his balance in such a way that the Emperor does not stumble or exert himself too greatly. The healers and their bacta concoctions have done much to spare him the indignity of a cast, but the bruising on his right thigh is still considerable, the muscles weak, bones soft and mending. 

And of course, there is the accursed cough that still lingers. Coupled with low-grade fever and the pain from his leg, there is not an inch of his body that does not seem bothersome.

Ren starts towards to the wing-backed chair near the fireplace, but Hux redirects him with a tap to the shoulder. "No. I cannot bear to languish in here any longer. Perhaps a bit of fresh air?"

"Of course," Ren says.

He helps the Emperor hobble onto the covered seating area just outside of the door, eases him into the chair away from the swath of sunlight that intrudes on the shade, and slides a stool beneath his foot so that his injured leg has proper support.

"Better?" Ren asks.

Hux's gaze roves over the sleek musculature of Ren's torso for a brief instant before he answers.

"Oh yes," he says. "A much better view, indeed." 

The corners of Ren's mouth twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. "I'll be back," he says. "Behave yourself."

Right, because the Emperor certainly had every intention of gallivanting off into the woods by himself or such nonsense. Although, that was technically part of what had landed him in this position in the first place. At least the would-be assassin had paid dearly for his attempt on Hux's life. With his own.

He glances at the mess of bruising upon his thigh, trailing pale fingers over the battered flesh and recalls the look of shock upon the assassin's face as he pulled the blaster from his belt. Honestly, had the brute assume him to be so foolish as to be unarmed? One did not become Emperor of the entire galaxy without skill as well as political savvy. 

He leans back in the chair, eyes fluttering shut, a smile curving his lips. Both the injury and the illness had been worth it.

The sound of the door rouses him and it takes him a moment to realize that he has, in fact, dozed off. 

"I am awake," he informs Ren, although the man has not remarked on his state of consciousness.

"Good to know," Ren says. "Here."

Hux opens one eye and then the other, the fresh scent of herbal tea with a wedge of star lemon wafting to his nose. He would know the smell anywhere, as it is a blend of his own creation, one that he reserves only for himself.

"Where . . . did you get that?" he asks.

Ren hands him the cup with a shrug of one shoulder. "I made it."

"Obviously," Hux says.

He take a moment to sample it and is taken aback by the perfect blend of bitter and sweet, by the clarity and balance of the flavor. While not exact, the resemblance is uncanny, if not better than his own.

"How did you manage this?" he asks.

Ren's mouth quirks into a smirk. "Well, Your Majesty, there is a garden in the back of this cottage. An herbal garden--"

"I know that," Hux interrupts. "Stop being coy. You know what I am asking." 

Again with the shrug of one shoulder. "I have tasted it. Smelled it. I figured it out."

Hux takes another sip. And then another. "Well," he says. "You have certainly done a fine job." He glances over the edge of the cup, catching the other man's stare. "Thank you, Ren."

The corners of Ren's crinkle ever-so-slightly as he takes a seat in the chair beside Hux, a glass of water between his hands, long legs stretched out before him. He has taken the liberty of shrugging a tunic over his shoulders, but has left it unbelted, the fairness of his skin a sharp contrast to the black fabric as always. It not the same paleness as the Emperor himself, who is a near ghostly white beneath his robe, skin dusted with freckles. Ren's complexion has a dusky component, the occasional dark speck dotting random patterns here and there. Upon his face, trailing the curve of his shoulder, lining his collarbone.

Yes, Hux knows each and every spot of darkness well. He has studied them during restless nights when his mind refused to quiet, has memorized the topography of Ren's skin with his fingers. 

They sit in silence for some time, Hux sipping his tea and Ren with his water, observing the early morning shadows lengthen, listening to the simple rustle of leaves ruffled by a playful wind, to the lulling babble of the fountain, the intermittent chatter of wildlife. 

"Ren," Hux says after some time and the other man lolls his head in the Emperor's direction without turning his body.

Hux sets his now empty cup on the table beside his chair. "That business upon the pillar you were engaging in earlier. How in the galaxy can you manage such a thing?"

"You saw that, did you?" He flicks his gaze to the fountain for a moment before continuing. "It's part of a Force kata."

"A Force kata?" Hux repeats. "I did not know there were such things."

"Oh, there are," Ren says. His smile is wry, expression bordering on a bitter wistfulness that Hux cannot recall seeing.

A strange part of Hux wants to pry, to ask what else he remembers or just how much he might use it, but even the former General is not such a cruel man. Instead, he eyes the beam of sunlight which has grown a bit too close for comfort. Coupled with sitting amongst the blooming absurdity of nature for some time, he finds that he has had quite enough of "outside" for the time being.

"Would you like to go back?" Ren asks.

He has felt no intrusion into his thoughts, no rifling through his mind. Ren is simply that attuned to his movements and moods.

"Yes," Hux says at last. "I would."

"Alright." Ren sets his glass aside and stands, presenting his hand to Hux who does not hesitate to slip his pale fingers into the capable grasp this time.

Again, Ren presents the facade that his aid is minimal, allowing Hux his slow, small steps, as if he is a man decades beyond his years. The simple journey leaves the Emperor damp with sweat beneath his robe, a combination of fever and exertion signaling his body to remind him of just how incapacitated he truly is. 

Ren leads him to the oversized couch, helps to ease him onto the cushions so that he is propped against the arm of it and not lying flat, slips one of the plumper decorative pillows beneath his ankle so that his foot is just above heart level, a well-known technique for keeping the swelling of his leg at bay. 

"Hungry?" Ren asks.

"Not particularly," Hux admits. "But if _you_ are--"

A plaintive chime of a meow interrupts Hux's thoughts and he glances down at the orange feline who has finally decided to make her presence known.

"Well," Ren says. "Someone is." 

He bends to scoop the cat into his arms and she bumps his chin with her head with a trill of a purr, paws kneading at the thin material of his tunic.

"Ouch," Ren says with such deadpan tonality, Hux cannot resist chuckling. 

"She likes you," Hux says, eying Ren with a smirk. "Although I haven't the faintest idea why."

"Hmmn." Ren returns the smirk with a crooked smile of his own. "Come on, then," he says to the overly affectionate feline who is now in the process of climbing onto his shoulder, a feat she cannot manage with Hux's smaller build. 

From his position on the couch, he can easily view the small kitchen area, watching as Ren manages to walk without jostling Millicent, who perches to the left of his ear as if she is in command of his movements. He pauses just shy of the counter space before the cooking implements and drops into a crouch level with the top of the of the counter.

"We have arrived, Your Grace," he says.

Millicent chirps a purr of agreement and leaps lightly to the top of the meteor granite, tail held aloft.

Hux watches as Ren serves his pet a meal of finely diced fish which he has cut himself, not bothering to set her upon the floor as most would do. He runs his hand along her back with a scratch of fingers and she arches into the touch, the tip of her tail quivering to attention. Hux cannot help chuckling once more.

Ren takes his time in the kitchen, methodically chopping items Hux cannot see over the counter top and arranging them upon a plate while Millicent takes to cleaning her paws with delicate precision. It is a mundane, domestic scene, nothing like the Emperor's usual morning of political commentary and decision making. There are no meetings, no formalities, no documentation that requires his approval. 

There is only the repetitive tap of Ren's knife against the cutting board, the rustling of an occasional wrapper, the soft hush of Ren's bare feet upon the tiled floor.

Ren returns to his side, plate in hand, an arrangement of freshly sliced fruits and cheeses spread over it.

"I cannot possibly eat all of this," Hux says.

"I know," Ren says. "That's why I'm going to help you eat it."

_The absurd tart of a man and his "smart" commentary . . ._

"Are we eating with our hands, then?" Hux asks with an arch of one eyebrow.

The look on Ren's face is something caught between amusement and exasperation. "That is typically how one eats finger food, Your Majesty." 

Hux cannot stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You needn't use my title with no one about to hear it, you realize." 

_"You_ hear it," Ren says.

Hux frowns, but the faintest hint of pink creeps up his neck and colors his fair skin. He will blame it on the fever later.

"Go on." Ren offers him the plate first.

Hux narrows his eyes. "Heathen," he says. But he plucks a sliver of lunar melon from the selection just the same.

He watches as Ren does the same without the same type of concern Hux displays, easily managing several pieces of both fruit and cheese before Hux has finished the first. Such nonsense comes easy to Ren, who does not care if his "manners" are on display or not.

It is not until Hux finishes his third piece of fruit that he sits back against the pillow with a grunt, the realization that his medication has begun to wear off an irritating reminder of his current situation. 

"Are you hurting?" Ren asks.

Hux wonders if Ren has read his mind or if his facial expressions have grown so obvious.

"It is bearable," Hux lies.

"Hmmn," Ren muses. "Well, you'll have to eat more than that if you want to take something for it."

"It's fine," Hux says a bit more peevishly.

"Regardless of that, you need to eat a bit more," Ren says. He sets the plate upon the table beside the couch and selects one of the fig berries Hux has not bothered to touch. "Here."

Hux eyes the proffered tidbit for a moment and considers telling Ren that he hasn't any need for more food, that he is perfectly capable of consuming more at a later time, but instead, he graces the other man with a long-suffering sigh and parts his lips in invitation.

Ren takes his time slipping his fingers between Hux's lips, placing the fruit upon his tongue and Hux indulges the gesture, sliding his tongue over Ren's sword-roughened finger tips with a suggestive flick.

A rumble of approval ebbs from Ren's throat as he retracts his hand, watching Hux chew and swallow before offering him a bit more. 

"I am capable of feeding myself, you realize," Hux informs him.

"True," Ren says. "But you like this more." 

Hux allows the other man to feed him nearly half the remaining food before he can stomach no more of it. He does not admit that he enjoys the texture of Ren's fingers more than the fruit and cheese.

(TBC . . . )


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux recants to Kylo Ren just how he managed to escape the botched assassination attempt in graphic detail.

The pale afternoon sun has deepened to shades of red-tinged bronze by the time the Emperor awakens. Much to his chagrin, he has somehow managed to sleep nearly the entire day, a feat he cannot manage when the stars are out, much less with daylight streaming through the faded curtains. 

At least his fever seems to have finally broken, the sweat from his body dampening his robe to an unsavory cling of fabric. He pulls at the lapel and gives himself a disgusted inspection before he realizes that Ren is watching him from the chair across from the couch. Still in his unbelted tunic. Still a tousled mess.

"Haven't you anything better to do, Ren?" Hux asks in a churlish tone more befitting a child than the Emperor of the entire galactic order.

"No," the Enforcer says.

Hux does not miss the smirk that curves one side of his mouth. _Insolent bastard._

"Well." Hux plucks at the sleeve of his robe. "I am in desperate need of a bath. I not suppose that I could convince you to leave the matter to myself?"

"Probably not," Ren says. He sweeps an indicative hand down his torso. "Although, I could use one as well." His dark eyes flick to Hux, the fading light of day lending a molten tone of gold to their hue. "Perhaps you would care to join me?"

A shiver passes through Hux's body at the way in which Ren's voice drops, the suggestive, yet seemingly impassive invitation. It is not often that he indulges such whims. It is a frivolous thing, a waste of time.

But now . . .

"I do believe I would enjoy that," Hux says.

Ren rises to his feet with a stretch. "I will return shortly," he says.

Just why he feels the need to inform Hux of this every time is a new behavior, although the Emperor is fully aware of his reasoning. It isn't not difficult to see that Ren feels responsible for his current condition. Even with his enhanced physical strength and uncanny mental abilities, Ren had not been able to foresee just what had transpired. 

Hux has not elaborated on how he managed his escape. And how his would-be assassin had not.

While Ren tends to the bath preparations, Hux indulges his spoiled feline companion in a bit of chin scratching, smiling to himself when she rubs the side of her face along his hand. Marking him. An endearing behavior, to say the least. 

The fact that Ren thought to bring her in the first place had pleased him when his only concern had been slipping away unnoticed. A decoy of sorts had been sent on a false diplomatic mission away from the palace, a seemingly mundane event that would attract little attention. Unless, of course, that attention were of the ill-intended kind. 

Only General Phasma and Lieutenant Mitaka are privy to his whereabouts, their squadrons given strict orders to guard various perimeters in secret.

"It's ready."

Hux blinks, glancing up from his revelry. "So quickly?"

Ren tilts his head. "Nearly twenty minutes have passed."

Had they? Perhaps he is still a bit feverish, after all. 

Ren holds out his hand and Hux clasps his wrist for better leverage, allowing the Enforcer to help him to his feet and usher him into the lavatory. The tub is claw-footed monstrosity in gilded gold leafing, absurd enough for three men of Ren's size rather than simply himself.

He leans a shoulder upon the nearest as Ren releases him, watches as the other man disrobes, sliding the tunic from his broad shoulders and tugging the snug-fitting pants down his lean hips. 

No undergarments. Of course. 

Ren passes a hand through his hair, an unconscious self-soothing gesture he often engages in even he does not realize Hux is watching and turns to face him.

"You will have to remove that," he says with an indicative nod towards Hux's still-belted robe.

As if the Emperor hasn't the faintest idea. As if he planned to submerge himself in that ghastly tub in his silk finery. 

"Untie me, then," Hux says with a gesture to the knotted strip of fabric which holds the robe closed. Mostly.

"Hmn." Ren's lips curve into a smirk. "Famous last words, Your Majesty." 

"Great galaxy, Ren, I swear--"

The hands have made short work of the rather intricate knot he managed earlier, stripping him of the robe with ease. Ren does not toss it to the floor as he so often does with his own clothing, but rather hangs it upon the hook near the mirror.

An arm slips around his waist and Ren guides him to the bathtub, stepping into the water first. Hux grits his teeth with a combination of pain and gall. Tottering around in need of constant assistance is a hindrance not only to his body, but to his ego as well. Dependency on another is not something he acquiesces to easily, but an act as simple as hiking his leg over the tall, sloping edge of the bathtub is an impossible feat without aid.

Ren allows him the luxury of trying things on his own at first, helping only when he cannot manage the rest himself. Pain blackens his vision for an instant after a moment of overexertion, but Ren's strong hands upon his shoulders are a grounding force. 

"Easy," he says to Hux as he begins the arduous process of sinking them both beneath the water's surface, a feat which Hux begins to question the value of due to the amount of throbbing it incites within his injured leg.

Ren settles himself against the back slope of the tub, arms resting atop the curved edges, Hux's back against his chest. The Emperor does not admit his relief as he gingerly stretches his sore into a straighter position, the strain of it significantly reduced by the water's buoyancy. 

"Does it pain you?" Ren asks.

Hux stiffens almost imperceptibly. "It is bearable," he answers.

Beneath the water, Ren's hand lights upon his thigh. "May I?"

It is part of the regimen of healing, massaging the sore flesh to stimulate it, a task which Hux has neglected.

"If you must," Hux says at last, as if the idea is insufferable and asinine. 

Ren's hand closes over the top of his leg and Hux is grateful that the Enforcer cannot see his face, cannot witness the micro expressions of pain and discomfort on multiple levels that tweak his features into the occasional flinch.

"You never did tell me exactly how you managed this injury," Ren says.

With good reason. The Emperor does not need Ren's mind-reading ability to understand how the entire incident has left him, what shame he feels. Neither have spoken of such things. While Hux fancies himself shrewd and cruel, it is not the same for this man who would willingly give himself in defense of Hux's life in the name of duty. Or perhaps even more.

"It was a crude and inefficient effort," Hux tells him. "A vibro axe, if I recall correctly. The imbecile hadn't the foresight to land more than a glancing blow upon me."

The fingers have not yet begun to massage the most painful areas of his leg and Hux relaxes just a touch, recalling with vivid clarity just what the entire ordeal had entailed. 

The initial attack had been bold, out in the open with little warning. Ren had given dutiful and immediate chase to the culprits, cutting down several before they could so much as make it to the door. It had seemed to be a pathetic and unorganized attack, sparse and poorly executed. Hux's escape had been simple, a panel behind the wall of his throne, coded only to his handprint. 

The entire mess of it had been easy. Too easy.

"It was not until I ventured out of the corridor that I saw him," Hux says. "A blue-skinned male. Chiss, I believe. Standing there, emboldened by whatever idiotic plan he believed to be in motion." A soft hiss escapes him as Ren's fingers edge towards the most tender part of his wound. " _Careful,_ Ren . . ."

"Sorry." The touch recedes. "Go on." 

"I haven't the faintest idea how he got into such a place in palace, armed to the teeth with weaponry and far too incompetent to use it. A disgrace, really." Hux waves a hand. "He had the audacity to throw several knives first, like some manner of galactic daredevil in a stunt performance. It vexes me to say that one blade put quite a jagged tear in my favorite cape. But you see, Ren. I was the one who was foolish in this instance, believing there to be only one adversary. It was not until I felt the blow to my leg that I realized the error of my arrogance." The faintest rendition of a smile curves Hux's mouth. "But not for long."

The fingers resume their kneading and Hux settles against Ren's chest with a wordless murmur of contentment that has little to do with pain relief.

"Men are greedy creatures, Ren. They are not made for partnerships. I needed only to watch as the first imbecile took his cue to charge, only to be brought down by his axe-swinging comrade, who obviously wanted the joy of killing me for himself. It was quite a disappointing day for our dear assassin who believed me to be unconscious. That is, until I shot him in the shoulder with the blaster that hung from his own belt." 

"How did you manage that?" Ren's words are soft. Almost careful.

"I simply grabbed it as I 'fainted,' of course," Hux says. "He rather enjoyed me clutching as his attire, as if I were stunned from the blow of his axe and could do little more than stagger to the floor in a pool of my own blood. Can you imagine his surprise, Ren? The look on his face as I climbed atop his body, bleeding and without the use of my right leg, yet still managing to straddle him? It was quite the sight." Hux's smile spreads to a faint, almost nefarious show of teeth. "I clamped my hand upon his shoulder, dug my fingers into the rawness of his flesh as he screamed, shoved the blade of my gilded knife to his ruddy throat and watched the blood well around the metal. It's strange what a man will do when faced with the end of his life, strange how his boldness gives way to pathetic pleas for salvation."

"I take it he did not garner your mercy," Ren says.

A flash of pleasure glints dark in the green depths of Hux's eyes. "I grew tired of his pleas and before I slit his throat, I cut out that blathering tongue of his, reprimanded him most soundly for bending my ear with such nonsense." 

Hux raises a hand, watches as the water trickles from his fingers, ebbs down his wrist. "I had forgotten just much a gash to the throat can bleed."

Conversational. Merciless. 

He glances over his shoulder before leaning back with a sly, almost content smile as he urges Ren's back into a concentrated rub along his outer thigh.

"Well, do not stop, Ren. Surely you are not so put off by this tale that touching me has become a loathsome endeavor."

"So, it was not _your_ blood."

His brow knits just a touch. Was that relief in Ren's voice?

"Of course not," Hux says, as if such a notion is ludicrous. 

The hand upon his thigh tightens for the briefest instant. "I am . . . I am glad for it, then."

"Honestly, Ren. Did you believe me incapable of self-defense in your absence?" The rebuke is far milder in tone than wording.

"No," Ren says. "But it is my duty to defend you. My life is yours. Anything less is failure." 

Hux pauses, lays his free hand atop Ren's own, stares at the pattern of the meteor granite tile upon the wall. "You have not failed me."

The hand beneath his own turns palm up, lacing their fingers together beneath the mirrored surface of the water.

(TBC....)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this ship DOING to my fucking sanity? 
> 
> Also, check out this art from [Jeusus on Tumblr](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/141456050068/she-likes-you-hux-says-eying-ren-with-a-smirk#notes) of Kylo and Millicent from Chapter 1 because it will break your brain forever.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo assists the ailing Emperor as best he can and muses over various facets of their relationship.

Within the warm confines of the bathtub, Kylo Ren flexes his free hand. Tension he did not realize he carried within his shoulders dissolves, the numbing tingle that resided within his wrist prickling into a burn as the feeling returns to his fingers.

For a moment, he presses his lips to Hux's neck, breathes in the scent of his damp skin, nuzzles the fine hairs that gather to a point.

"I am quite the precise shot with a blaster, you realize," Hux is saying, the end to an entire conversation that Kylo has somehow missed in his absorbance of all that is Hux. 

"When you are healed, I will teach you the art of the sword," Kylo murmurs against his skin.

"The sword?" Hux repeats. "Whatever for?"

"Because," Kylo says. "You may not always have access to a blaster. And . . ." He kisses a path down the fair shoulder, over the smattering of freckles there. "I suspect you would be good at it." A hand skims the Emperor's slender waist. "You're very agile. Flexible." 

The fingers that still interlock with his own respond with the faintest squeeze. "How would you know such things, hmm?"

"Oh." Kylo's voice dips into a darker register, a suggestive promise of something more. "I know." His fingers slip to the injured thigh once more. "How is it now?"

"Slightly less than painful," Hux replies. "Neither warmth nor cold seems to make much of a difference, despite what the blasted healers claim."

"Hmmn." Kylo tips his head with an assessing thoughtfulness that Hux cannot see. "Well, perhaps I can help with that."

"How exactly would you manage that?" There is no derision in Hux's tone, no contempt or disdain.

"Later," Kylo says. "But first . . ." He tugs at the lobe of Hux's ear with his teeth, chuckling low in his throat when the other man shivers. "You are very dirty, Your Majesty."

This time, Hux grunts. " _Honestly,_ Ren." 

But Kylo has already picked up the soap, a clean, faint scent that he has seen to himself, something that will not irritate the Emperor's laughably sensitive sinuses. He lathers it between his hands and begins with Hux's shoulders, working his way down his slender frame, thumbs roving over the lithe musculature of his back, fingers kneading into the fair skin of one arm and then the other. When the Emperor leans into the touch with the faintest hint of a groan, Kylo cannot help but smile. The man is exhausted, his body betraying him to the Enforcer far more than he would ever allow under any other circumstances. 

Kylo takes his time tending to every inch of skin that he can manage, saving the Emperor's steam-dampened locks for last, taking care to keep the shampoo from his eyes, rinsing the lather away with the small pitcher near the tub's edge that is made for decoration, but now serves a higher purpose. 

It is only after Hux is as clean as Kylo can manage that he takes care of his own needs in a quick, almost hasty fashion until Hux's touch stills his hand.

"You needn't hurry, you realize," the other man says.

"The water is cooling," Kylo says. "We should probably get you out."

For once, Hux does not argue, but rather allows Kylo to have his way, a sure indication that he is not nearly as well as he appears. A quick delving into his energetic signature via the Force only serves to confirm this.

"Ren," Hux says as the Enforcer braces himself to rise from the tub. "Were you reading my mind just then?"

"No," Kylo says. "Just your energy." He pauses, hand gripping the sides of the tub. "Did you feel it?"

Hux blinks as if surprised by both himself and the question. "Perhaps I did."

Interesting. Kylo keeps his private observation on the matter to himself and rises from the tub with care, stepping over the edge and onto the obligatory towel. He does not miss the way the Emperor's green eyes trace the lines of his body, the way his stare lingers, the distant heat of his gaze.

"Your hand," Kylo says.

"I can do it myself," Hux says.

"No, you can't." Kylo reaches for him, grasps his wrist and tugs him slowly to the surface of the water, subtly uses the Force to counterbalance him and make it seem as though he has risen mostly on his own. 

If Hux notices the illusion, he says nothing, allowing Kylo to shroud him in a towel the size of a small blanket, complete with ruffling his damp hair.

"Stop that at once," Hux grumbles.

Kylo smirks. He sees it that Hux is outfitted with a more substantial robe, something thick and plush that sweeps the ground while Kylo himself settles for nothing more than a pair of loose-fitting black pants, damp hair slicked away from his face.

"How is it that every inch of me is swaddled in far too much fabric and yet, I am still freezing," Hux mutters more to himself than to Kylo.

"Fever," Kylo says. "Come on."

He slips an arm around Hux's waist, guides him out of the lavatory and back into the bedroom where the effort of climbing atop the high-framed proves to be too great a task for the weary Emperor. Before Hux can protest, he gathers him into his arms and lifts him from the ground, laying him gently upon the mattress so as to avoid jostling his injured leg.

"This is humiliating," Hux grumbles. "Being carted about like some helpless maiden."

"Well." Kylo climbs atop the mattress himself and begins the process of arranging pillows beneath Hux's leg and ankle. "I'm sure you won't require my assistance much longer."

A hand grasps his wrist, staying the motion of his fingers. "I am . . . pleased with your assistance, Ren," Hux says. "Grateful for it." 

A smile curves one side of Ren's mouth. "It pleases me to assist you." 

_"Ugh."_ Hux waves a hand in a dismissive fashion before beckoning to Kylo with a curving of fingers. "Come here, then. Lie with me." 

Kylo crawls across the mattress and makes himself comfortable beside the Emperor, inviting the other man to share his warmth. The faintest tremor runs through Hux's slender body, evidence of the fever rising yet again. The Enforcer will have none of it. His eyes flutter closed, breathing evening to a deep, slow rhythm as he reaches into the ether that is the Force, connecting to it through his own energetic signature, a gentle pulse of response that is easily directed and shaped.

He splays a hand atop Hux's shoulder and draws him closer still, lips pressed to Hux's brow.

"Whatever are you doing . . ." 

Hux's voice is a distant, near hollow echo as Kylo threads the universal energy through the weakness of Hux's aura, reinforcing the energetic structure until gradually, the shivering subsides and the Emperor relaxes into his embrace, fevered tension all but bleeding from his body in a single exhalation. 

"Rest now," Kylo murmurs.

A hand cups his jaw, fingers tracing his face, sliding into the damp darkness of his hair, tugging him down into a the lingering softness of a kiss.

"You are . . . so good to me. . . " 

The accented perfection of Hux's words are a slur of sound near his ear. 

"Perhaps you belong to galaxy in name and title," Kylo says. His hand tightens upon Hux's shoulder. "But in this moment, you are mine." 

Lips move against his own as Hux speaks. "More than that." 

His throat tightens, constricting his words into nothingness and he licks his lips before the power of speech is granted to him once more. "Bren . . ." he begins. "I . . ." 

The fingers that twine themselves within his hair go limp, the hand sliding to his neck and the slow, even heaviness of Hux's breathing fading his own voice into silence. In the throes of slumber, the Emperor presents a visage that is far too young to rule the galaxy, his fair skin dusted with freckles, the fringe of his eyelashes a delicate sweep of pale ginger. Deceptive, dangerous fragility that is a vessel for something far greater.

But for now, he is simply a man in need of care that he cannot ask for, acquiescing to the whims of his body in way he cannot manage to conceal. Kylo curls his body around Hux's own, committing the clean of scent of his skin to memory, memorizing the topography of his body against his chest, relaxing into the even depth of his breath.

He nuzzles Hux's ear, allows his eyes to close.

"Mine," he whispers. 

_Mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a lot of short stories for this universe, so while this one has come to a close, the Emperor Hux and Enforcer Kylo Ren saga has only just begun! Check out the "Tales of the Sovereign" series for more because they're coming faster than I can write the bastards lol.


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